Tick Tick Boom
by TiTivillus
Summary: Everything was fine until that waitress dropped the damn' hot sauce. Coda to 3x11 Mystery Spot. Hurt!Traumatized!Sam. BigBro!Protective!Dean. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.


**Title:** Tick Tick Boom

 **Summary:** Everything was fine until that waitress dropped the damn' hot sauce... Episode tag to 3x11 Mystery Spot. Hurt!Traumatized!Sam. BigBro!Protective!Dean. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Warnings:** Rated K+ for bad language, mild descriptions of violence, death, and injuries. Spoilers for 3x11 Mystery Spot.

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For Sam and Dean, life was a constant struggle, a minefield full of booby traps.

One wrong move- one wrong look or word was all it took for their composure to crack and the flood of shit they tried to keep hidden from the outside world to overwhelm them.

It happened at the oddest of times- usually when they least expected it and it broke something deep inside of them every time, reopening wounds that had scabbed over a long time ago.

This time was no exception.

They had been in some sleazy dung-hole diner at the outskirts of River Falls, Wisconsin - Dean shoveling in food with the usual gusto while Sam poked his dubious-looking 'meatloaf' with rightful skepticism, when a pudgy waitress with an explosion of colored hair stopped by their booth to ask if they needed anything… and then proceeded to clumsily knock down the hot sauce from her tray.

The bottle smashed to the ground in a sticky mess of shards and thick liquid- the bright red substance seeping into the grooves of the tiled floor and sprinkling the wallpapers.

"Oh _shoot_ ," the waitress swore under her breath and turned towards the bar to demand a clean-up.

Dean was about to make a sassy comment, when he noticed the way his brother's eyes were practically popping out of his face- peering up at the waitress with barely disguised horror etched all over his features.

"Sam?" he asked hesitantly, before casting a nervous look back over the shoulder at their waitress. "You alright?"

Had he missed something about her that seemed suspicious? A flare in her eyes, maybe? Or the tell-tale glint of fangs? Try as he might, Dean didn't notice anything unusual about her that would justify such a strong reaction.

Maybe Sam was hurt- maybe he had been injured during their latest salt and burn without telling Dean.

And now _that_ thought was really terrifying.

"Sammy, talk to me, what's going on?" panic seeped into Dean's tone as he leaned over the table to capture Sam's wrist.

Sam's breathing was harsh and loud, his chest heaving with his desperate gulps of air as he continued to stare at the waitress in obvious horror.

His face was rapidly draining of all color, cool sweat beads forming on his forehead, eyes wide and pooling with tears.

 _Crap._

Dean shot out of his seat, realizing the signs of a full-fledged panic attack when he saw them.

He grabbed his wallet from the back of his jeans, tossed a wad of bills onto the table without a glance back and slipped an arm around Sam's back to gently pull him out of the booth. "C'mon let's get you outta here..."

Sam went rigid at the touch, breath hitching in his chest as if the skin-on-skin contact had burnt him. "No! S-stop- I can't- I can't-I can't do this… not again… no, _please_ —"

Sam's voice broke on the last word and something deep inside of Dean broke along with it.

"Can't do _what_ again?" he whispered around the lump in his throat, but the kid was staring right through him at the source of his distress- the waitress- or more specifically the spatter of hot sauce on the tiled floor, rocking back and forth in his seat as his chest continues to heave violently.

"C-can't breathe—"

"Yes you can. You can talk, so you can breathe. Sammy, listen to me—"

"Oh god, somebody get him a doctor!" some woman in her mid-fifties cried out from the booth across from them.

"Call an ambulance Nancy!" a guy chimed in from somewhere to Dean's left and Sam's breathing picked up, his eyes flying around frantically in his ever-growing panic.

"He's having an allergic reaction or a seizure or something. We need to—"

"The only thing you **_need_ ** to do right now, is back the fuck off and give him some space!" Dean snarled, throwing a murderous into the crowd.

Dean was well aware of the fact that everybody else in the diner was staring at them, that all the soft background noise and conversational chatter had died down in favor of listening to their conversation.

Even the clanking of plates and silverware had come to a complete halt. The happy laughter and mindless exchange of everyday life had blissfully faded into silence and the room was filled with tension instead.

Dean didn't care.

Sam was in pain- he was _terrified_ in a way Dean had never seen before and it had every single protective big brother instinct inside of him roar to life with blinding intensity.

"Dean I c-can't— I c-c-cuh—" garbled words got stuck in Sam's throat and he started coughing, then wheezing, then choking for air.

 _Shit._

Sam wasn't just having a panic attack- he wasn't just hyperventilating, he was _paralyzed with fear_. Whatever he was seeing- whatever cruel world his mind was trapped in- the memories were drowning him, it was gradually becoming harder for him to force air into his lungs.

"Sam, snap out of it!" Dean growled low under his breath, confusion and fear making his voice harsher than intended.

Acting on pure instinct- Dean ignored his brother's feeble attempts to fight him off, and turned Sam around by the upper arm- forcing his brother into a somewhat upright position on the leather booth.

When his efforts resulted in a hurt little gasp of air from Sam's lips, Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to soften his tone.

"Hey, hey," Dean cupped Sam's jaw with both hands, tilting his head slightly down so that they were face to face. "Sam, look at me, okay? C'mon, man, you're freaking me out here."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean could see a bald man creep closer and instinctively he squared his shoulders, building a front between the strangers in that godforsaken diner and his terrified little brother, to protect him from their shameless curiosity and whispers.

These people didn't get to make assumptions about his brother when they didn't have the slightest understanding of what the man had been through- of what he had endured- of the kind and gentle soul that rested behind all that pain.

They didn't get to point their fingers at Sam or look at him with pity when they couldn't even _begin_ to understand the horrors his brother had lived through and Dean would be damned if he let any of them even just in the vicinity of Sam when he was openly vulnerable like this.

"Step back," he warned in a threatening growl, leaving no doubt about his harmful intentions if anybody made a move towards Sam.

"I can help," the guy said because apparently he had a fucking death wish or something. "I was in the army, I know PTSD when I see it."

The diner broke out in secretive whispers and quiet chatter- there were a few gasps and pointed fingers but all Dean could focus on was his brother's frantic breathing attempts and the stark pallor of his skin.

"Listen to me, you have to slap him or something—pain can give the right impulse to bring him back... I can do it for you if you want," the guy took another step forward, crowding in from the side and rationality officially abandoned Dean's when Sam let out a whimper- a fucking _whimper_ \- like some kind of hurt animal and tried to scoot further back against the window.

And that was it.

Dean didn't care about the guy's good intentions or whatever, because anybody who dared to elicit a reaction like this from his brother was going _down._

"I'm gonna say this one time and one time only," Dean caught the guy by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him close. "You make a move towards my brother- you even so much as _look_ at him and war will seem like fucking _Disney World_ compared to what I'll do to you, you hear me?"

The guy gave a feeble nod in return and Dean discarded him with a warning jostle and a death glower, ignoring the shocked gasps and protests that come from all sides of the room. When he returned his attention back to Sam, the kid was still out of it- still shaking like a leaf and mumbling to himself as he rocked back and forth in his seat.

"Sam," he said, doing his best to imitate their father's no-nonsense voice as he cupped the sweaty nape of his brother's neck and forced the younger man to focus his half-conscious, glassy gaze on himself. "Sam, listen to me, okay? Just listen to my voice."

A jolt of recognition burned its way through the fog of confusion in Sammy's eyes and Dean nearly cried with relief. "There we go. Just focus on the sound of my voice, alright?"

He slowly covered the back of his brother's shaking hand with his own and curled his fingers around Sam's bigger ones until their hands were interlaced. Then he brought them up to his own chest and fanned his brother's palm out against the left side of his chest, right above his jack-hammering heart.

"You feel that?" he asked in a ragged whisper. "Take a deep breath and try to make your rhythm match mine, okay?"

 _Only Sam._

Only his giant girl of a little brother could turn him into a pile of cheesiness in the middle of a cramped diner- pulling the mother of all chick-flick moments in front of a few dozen strangers.

The kid was still wheezing, still pale and sweaty and such a _goddamn' mess_ but his eyes were bright with recognition where there had only been pain mere seconds ago and his heartbeat stuttered in a way that signaled understanding.

Dean pressed Sam's palm harder down against his own skin, wanting him to feel every single beat- needing him to stay connected to the real world- the here and now by following the pattern of blood pumping through his own veins.

"That's it kiddo, just follow my lead. Try to breathe through your nose," Dean followed his own instructions, taking a deep gulp of air, before slowly releasing it through his mouth.

It wasn't much, but Sam was trying- his chest fluttering with the attempt to inhale beneath the gentle pressure of Dean's palm.

"Now exhale. That's it," he narrated quietly, guiding his brother through the process of breathing as if it was something that needed to be explained and practiced. "In and out… just like me. There you go, Sammy."

A few minutes passed with Dean repeating the same cycle of words and motions, gently, _patiently_ giving instructions until his brother's breathing started to slow down.

It was a nerve-wracking process but with every shuddering inhale Sam took, some of the color slowly returned to his face and some of the light sparked back to life inside his whiskey-colored eyes.

"Hey," Dean finally said after what seemed like eternity, carding his fingers through Sam's sweat slick hair and combing them back and away from his forehead. "You back with me, yet?"

Sam blinked at him. "Wha—" he started coughing, cutting himself off with a few hacking gasps of air.

"Hey, easy, take it easy," Dean's hand moved from the spot over Sam's heart up to the side of his neck, fingers gently stroking along the carotid as if to reassure himself that his little brother was okay.

The kid's breathing pattern was slowly returning back to normal but the second Dean tried to remove his hand, Sam's breathing sped up again and a small sound of protest slipped from his lips.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Not going anywhere," he quickly reassured, letting his hand slip back in position against the side of the younger man's neck and feeling his pulse go back to a steady rhythm. "I'm right here, man."

Sam slumped a little in his seat, being completely exhausted from the attack- body drained of all its energy.

"Wh-what … day…?" he wheezed out, eyes imploring as they burned their way straight into Dean's soul.

The whole diner was watching them. Listening to every word they exchanged.

You could have dropped a fucking pin in the deadly silence that had followed their little drama display and that's when Dean heard it.

The quiet- almost imperceptible sound of a rickety radio station that filtered through the kitchen out into the dining hall echoed from the walls and flooded Dean's heart with memories. And then **_pain_** as realization slowly dawned on him.

' _And when your looks are gone and you're alone  
How many nights you sit beside the phone?'_

He felt himself swallow hard, the biting sting of tears in his eyes.

He had thought maybe the **_cage_** … or yellow eyes- or maybe even a flashback of the time he had been soulless… but this?

Dean vaguely remembered Broward County and the way Sam had hugged him on that Wednesday morning after the time loop had ended.

It's been over _eight_ years.

And this is what made Sam lose his marbles all over the floor of a public diner?

"Sammy…" Dean's voice caught in his throat.

He didn't even know what to say.

God, they were so fucking messed up, sometimes it was a wonder they were still walking and talking and functioning at ALL, much less facing a war and saving lives when even something as fucking simple as a classic song could turn them into a babbling mess- could bring the flood of memories back and drown them in a maelstrom of darkness.

' _What were the things you wanted for yourself?  
Teenage ambitions you remember well'_

"What day…?" Sam insisted stubbornly, his fingers tightening in Dean's shirt as if the physical connection was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Friday," Dean reassured, thumb brushing up against Sam's still too rapid pulse. "It's Friday, Sammy."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed once, forcing the trauma away- back into the darkest corner of his mind, where they kept a box with a heavy lid and locked away all the shit they couldn't afford to deal with on a daily basis.

"I—I thought—" Sam grit his teeth against the pain and Dean shook his head, squeezing his brother's neck in gentle reassurance.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, his tone soft and empathetic as he slowly turned his around to shoot a cursory glance around the diner.

Well, shit.

Dozens of eyes were trained on them- people had literally stopped to eat and ceased all activity to be able to stare at them.

"Is he okay?" an elderly guy with a trucker cap cut in from the side.

Dean made a show out of ignoring him and focused his attention entirely on Sam.

It had always been like this- Sam got hurt and the whole world took a backseat.

"You okay?" he echoed quietly, because it was _his_ right to ask and not some goddamn stranger's.

Relief washed over him when Sam looked up to meet his eyes.

They exchanged a look and Dean instantly knew Sam was going to be alright.

His little brother was still shaken by whatever had just happened, but slowly finding his way back to reality.

' _Heat of the moment  
Heat of the moment'_

Sam winced at the repetitive lyrics and Dean suppressed the urge to find that goddamn' radio and unload his whole freaking clip into the speakers.

"C'mon, let's get out of here… you good to walk?"

"Gonna carry me?" Sam scoffed weakly.

"Shut up," Dean gave back with no real heat in his voice, the light banter feeling oddly misplaced in the light of what had happened and yet giving him a sense of security.

Sam was doing it for his benefit, Dean realized. Because Dean had a tendency to mask serious situations with humor or sarcasm.

But Sam wasn't wired that way- he needed real conversations, needed the reassurance of physical touch and a gentle voice to guide him back to safer grounds.

' _The heat of the moment shone in your eyes'_

This was something they would need to talk about.

Something important, because it was still hurting Sam- like a wound that had scabbed over but never quite healed.

So yeah, Sam could try and brush it off for now and Dean would let him- because they were in public and that really wasn't a conversation they could have in front of other people. But once Dean had made sure his brother was okay, he would find out what had caused this attack- and why Sam was still so torn up over what happened in Broward County.

"You're okay," Dean said as he eased himself out of the booth, gently dragging Sam along.

Sam dug his fingers into Dean's shirt, never letting go of the worn-out material as they headed for the exit.

His gaze was glued to the mess of hot sauce and shards when they passed it, but Dean tugged him forward. "Don't look. C'mon."

They were already at the door, when Sam hesitated.

He looked up at the waitress who had started all of this and squinted at her name tag. "Hey Dora?" his voice was gruff and raspy as he spoke.

 _Fucking figures she would be named 'Dora'._

As if the hot sauce and the song hadn't been enough to flood Sam's mind with long forgotten memories.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, probably because she thought he was crazy or a minute away from having an honest to god heart attack.

"Your meatloaf sucks," he said before turning around and following Dean out of the diner.

 **The END.**

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 _I heard the song on the radio today :) Couldn't resist... Hope you enjoyed the read! Please drop me a few lines if you liked it and feed my review addiction :D Cheers!_


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